I spend too much time worrying about my talents. Am I using them to the best of my ability? Which ones should I focus on? Am I wasting my most important ones and instead imparting too much time and energy on ones that won’t deliver optimal results? Some days I create intricate excuses or just throw up my hands in frustration and bury my time in some useless activity then invariably feel all the more miserable after for the time wasted. Should I not have done something, made something, achieved something? What a messed up ‘canvas’ I’m creating! Maybe I was right where I needed to be at that moment and maybe I’d save so very much anxiety if I just learn to accept who I am as I am.
What I am slowly coming to realize is I am very much affected by the seasons and the weather. William Shakespeare long ago wrote “At Christmas I no more desire a rose than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth; but like of each thing that in season grows.” That is me. There are seasons when I cannot force myself to put paint to canvas. There are seasons when I cannot resist the allure of some warm wool in my hands as I turn it into something else. There are times when I cannot put down a novel and other times when I have no desire whatsoever to pick one up. I even wonder sometimes why I fill my space with things that I have no desire to use. There are seasons that I embrace the pull of warm, rich soil in my hands as I plant and nourish and grow and there are seasons that relieve me of my guilt in not tending to all my outside spaces with the precision and attention they undoubtedly deserve, I am then elated to be finally buried inside, in the warmth, with a new set of goals in hand.
So, I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t worry. I also don’t need to categorize and itemize every task and talent and numerically order them from greatest to least. I make mental lists, but then my head gets so full of all I haven’t done that I go through fits of despondency when really I might need to step back and check out the ‘canvas’ I’ve been creating from a different angle.
So what if every moment of every day is not spent with artist’s brush in hand? Sometimes I trade it out for a hammer or a pen or a shovel or someone else’s hand. Perhaps I’m not wasting my talents at all but using every single last one which was given to me. I imagine it’ll take more than my lifetime to perfect any one of them but in the meantime the picture I’m creating is pretty rich. Instead of worrying about efficiency or people’s perceptions I’m listening to the quiet…and the silence isn’t telling me that I’m wasting space or energy, the silence allows me to breathe and maybe just whispers ever so softly that I’m doing just fine. Relax and get on with it…whatever “it” may be.
Meanwhile..."it" is painting again! ;)